Page 27 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva
I stand nervously before the mirror and apply a final coat of lip gloss. Tonight, I’m wearing a dress Ilariy presented me with this morning, since I had nothing formal for a private dinner. The maid made sure to pack more sundresses and bikinis than I knew what to do with, but forgot that one important dress every girl must carry.
And for some reason, Ilariy cared to ask if I had something to wear this morning, only to get me one when I answered in the negative.
I step back and barely recognize myself. The dress, a gorgeous deep pink chiffon, has a halter neck and is fitted to my waist before flaring to my ankles. The back dips dangerously low, showing glistening skin in large volumes.
My heart races. This isn’t just any dress. It’s the kind of dress a girl wears when the night means something. Does Ilariy think tonight means something?
I think back to the kiss yesterday in that apothecary studio. I dreamt about that kiss all night. Once again, my heart races, and I remind myself that the kiss meant nothing.
But for some reason, it feels like my heart now pounds in anticipation. I nervously check my reflection once more, put on some highlighter on my neckline for some extra oomph, and suddenly pull back when I realize my efforts make no sense.
He kidnapped you… Remember, Arina?
So why the hell do I care if my hair is just right, if the brown shade of lipstick I have on shines just right? I don’t know, I have no answers, but I decide to put on mascara.
I’m doing it for myself, I tell myself. I want to feel pretty.
But I know that couldn’t be further from the truth.
***
Fifteen minutes later, I hear a knock on my door, and I quickly rush to get it. I nearly stumble in my heels, but find my footing before opening up to see Ilariy standing before me, wearing dark trousers and a crisp white button-down with the sleeves rolled up. The shirt stretches across his chest, falling softly across the muscles on his arms. The way he stands, holding a jacket casually over his shoulder with just this thumb and forefinger, makes my mouth go dry.
“You look beautiful,” he says, his eyes skimming over me.
“Thanks,” I manage as I step out and close the door behind me, trying to look indifferent. “You clean up well yourself.”
He smiles, and I find myself transfixed by that dimple, on the dips and crevices of his chin. My heart flutters when he offers me his arm.
I sling my purse over one shoulder and take his arm. “Where are we going tonight?” I ask.
“Like I said, somewhere private,” he says.
“I know that.” I raise an eyebrow. “But where?”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” he mutters.
“I doubt dinner is going to kill me,” I roll my eyes in annoyance, and he smirks.
***
Once again, Ilariy manages to surprise the socks right off of me. Not that I’m wearing any, but you know what I mean.
I thought he’d take me to a quiet, fancy restaurant. But this is something entirely different. He walks me up the path lined with tiki torches, through a small private gate, right to the beach, where I find myself staring at a lacy tent decorated with the most beautiful flowers—orchids, dahlias, and white roses.
There are so many flowers, intertwined with twinkling lights. On a beautiful evening like this, with the sun hanging low on the horizon and the sky in the prettiest shades of oranges and pink, I swear I think I’ve reached heaven.
He leads me up to a table beneath the tent, laid out for two, and helps me into my seat. When he takes his, I lean forward excitedly, my eyes darting out toward the ocean to see all the colors, the sights, the beauty. “Oh my god, Ilariy! How did you manage this?”
“I told you I’d take you for a private dinner,” he says nonchalantly, but I can tell he’s pleased with himself.
Between the private jet, that gorgeous villa in the previous hotel, the suite in this one, and gestures like this, I’m starting to wonder who exactly he is.
I’m going to get answers from him tonight; I promise myself that. But the night is long, and he’s pouring me champagne from the bottle in the ice cooler next to our table, so I decide to enjoy the evening as much as I can too. There’s time for all those questions.
“So,” he asks, looking up from the menu. “What should we eat… what should we eat?” He furrows his brows and looks so adorably confused that I let out a laugh.
He looks up at me in surprise and then, with mock offence, passes the menu to me. “Why don’t you decide?”
